


lovers will have suns in their hearts

by nap_princess



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Also Hans and Honeymaren are best friends, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hans is a horse girl — yeah you heard me, Helsa Valentine's Day, Helsa Valentine's Day 2021, I attempt to talk about economics and agriculture???, I don't have to explain to you why Rydoff is gay, I wrote this fic for me but y'all can read it if you want, I’m president of the Hansel and Honeymustard BROTP Club, M/M, Modern AU, You can’t stop me from living my dreams!, because I said so — but also because, bisexual!anna, farm au, good ending, lesbi-honest-Honeymaren, some anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nap_princess/pseuds/nap_princess
Summary: "This is my kingdom, even if I'm not king, even when the rooster bosses me around and tells me when to wake up, it’s my duty before my desire.”— HansElsa, farm boy!Hans and modern-day princess!Elsa AU(Helsa Valentine’s Day 2021: Week 1 — Conceal, don’t feel)
Relationships: Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna & Hans (Disney), Anna & Honeymaren (Disney), Anna/Honeymaren (Disney), Elsa & Hans (Disney), Elsa & Kristoff (Disney), Elsa & Ryder Nattura, Elsa/Hans (Disney), Hans & Honeymaren (Disney), Hans & Lars (Disney: Frozen), Kristoff/Ryder Nattura
Kudos: 11





	lovers will have suns in their hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes 1: This AU has a 'flexible monarchy' in terms of situations like the _Princess Diaries_ book series (looking at you ‘Dowager Princess’ title that isn’t what it says it is!) or the way _Barbie_ movies BS princess plots and make me go, "That's not how royalty works???"
> 
> I mean, you know how the British Royal Family sends their princes to do some kind of service (air force, marines, navy, military) in case there’s a war and how they all have ranks and experience, pretend this is the princess version. But it’s farming?? 
> 
> Idk, man, I just wanna write AUs where it has hints of modern but also something new. There is no further explanation. 
> 
> Notes 2: Elsa and Anna’s last names being ‘Àrnadalr’ is credited to **Bloody Priestess**. Inspired from the song ‘ _Heimr Àrnadalr_ ’ meaning ‘Home Arendelle’ which was sung during Elsa's coronation scene. Their last name literally means ‘Arendelle’, but written in a fancier tone! Thank you for the last name tip and for beta-ing :)

**lovers will have suns in their hearts**

* * *

* * *

_Elsa_

* * *

**i**

* * *

For the first few hours of their journey, a well-worn used path that lacks any pavements or structure is the only warm welcome that greets the sisters. The vehicle they sit in jumps and hobbles against the holes and rocks on the road, and the stoic driver does little to speak much less acknowledge the way the tires kick up dust and dirt.

Elsa's hands clench around the backpack resting on her lap and her mouth remains a firm line. She doesn't offer any chance of conversation either, feeling much too nervous. The unpleasantness pools in her stomach and squeezes her heart with every passing minute and every creaky jolt. She tries not to look too concerned as she turns to her younger sister.

Sweet, kind Anna who appears less bothered; strawberry blonde braids blowing against the slight breeze of the cracked window and an ever-present smile decorating her freckled face. 

Despite the heat and the situation they're put in, Elsa knows Anna is trying to look on the bright side. Now, for instance, Anna attempts to admire the scenery and the stretch of green. It really is lovely. Elsa doesn't think she's seen this much life since The Great Freeze hit Arendelle three years ago; first damaging their agriculture and then their trade.

Of course, The Great Freeze that struck her country isn't as bad as The Great Famine of 1695. Her history lessons tell her that it was so bad that it was referred to as 'The Years of Many Deaths' and 'The Great Black Year'; Arendelle isn’t that low in the red. But, it’s not like the sisters were oh-so willing to leave their country at its current state either. It’s not like they wanted to leave their home, but what other choice was there? 

Elsa had tried to look into their misfortune, tried to understand the change in global climate. She even looked into the degrees meteorologists acquire to talk about the weather on the news channels and Snow Science — which she found knowledge on the eighteen or so ways ice can freeze (and yet all the ice on earth forms in one way while the others are formed in space). So she gave up on trying to understand the weather and dove into understanding the barren land. Her hours spent researching were all good and well, but they weren't real life, were they? Not one hundred percent, textbooks and lectures can only provide so much. She can read up about something as much as she desires, but deep down, Elsa knows nothing beats experience.

So, here she and her sister is, travelling to _The Southern Isles_ ; a farm located South, far enough to not be affected by the harsh Winters. It's owned by the Westergaard family. Established way back when, so deep in history that it’s deemed good enough for the royal council to send Arendelle royalty to learn some secret to salvaging and saving their withering crops — which sounds _silly_. No, outright ridiculous! Because who on earth demands princesses to kneel in the soil and get their knees caked in mud in order to save their home? 

But — _listen_ , it’s like this: You can pay a lawyer to handle your case and you can hire an accountant to balance your books, but they could always swindle you because you don't know the ins-and-outs. _To them_ , it's about _the money_. _To you_ , it's _a problem_ that _you_ have and got to live with. God knows the three years the royal family has left the professionals to fix the country's piling issues has done shit! Truly, the only way the Àrnadalr bloodline can thrive is to do things themselves.

As Elsa flexes her fingers and tugs on her braid, she hopes her and Anna’s ‘I’m defo not a princess in disguise’ covers won’t get blown. 

Although, it's not under the mistrust of the Westergaards. The farm’s well-known lineage is ancient enough to sink its roots into the ground and border itself with old news. There's nothing new about the farm. No suspicions or gossip, or even any raised legal action despite its centuries of produce. And, it's not like Elsa's looking down on _The Southern Isles_ staff either.

 _Google_ is free, anyone can access the Arendelle news. But she's hoping no one's looked up the royal family and memorised her face. She's hoping the traditional clothes and tight updos are enough to conceal her from her casual wear — like _Padmé_ with her rotating wardrobe and full-face make-up; white foundation and dotted red lipstick.

She simply doesn’t want to be treated differently.

Or, at least, that’s what Elsa will admit if anyone discovers their true identities. 

.

.

.

By the time they reach their destination, the sky’s red and it’s dusk. 

And when Elsa steps out of the cab, her shoes squishing into some mud, she tries hard not to cringe. She reminds herself that — or maybe the better word is ‘expects’ — the next few months of her life will revolve around soil, animals and sweat from being under the beating sun. She’s going to have to swallow down the habit of constantly looking for a running tap and soap everytime she feels squeamish.

“The country air is so fresh!” Anna marvels.

The strawberry blonde widely grins at their view and takes a deep breath for dramatics. Elsa manages to return her sister’s excitement with a small smile.

But then it disappears just as quickly when the driver roughly handles their luggages and slams the trunk close. Anna’s grin drops too and Elsa tries not to wince at the idea of wiping mud off her luggage’s wheels.

As the man raises his hand for the travel fees, Elsa’s face goes hard. A thought occurs to her. 

_Right._ She says to herself as she hands over the money. _No one’s going to be overly polite out of obligation anymore. Whatever treatment Anna and I get, it’ll either be out of other people’s kindness or hard work._

.

.

.

An older redhead gentleman dressed in overalls and Wellington boots is the first person to greet the sisters. He sports a rather humble smile and his blue-grey eyes are hidden behind a pair of spectacles. His face tells Elsa that he’s kind, and she sighs a little in relief at this.

(Just because the platinum blonde is ready for a harsh reality, it does not mean she wants a lack of basic respect.)

“Hello,” He says, extending a freckled hand. “Are you Elsa and Anna?”

“Hi — Yes, we are! I’m Anna, it’s nice to meet you!” Anna answers first, shaking his hand without a quiver of hesitation.

The man’s eyes hints amusement as it flits from Anna’s energetic soul to Elsa’s shyness.

“Hello,” Elsa replies politely, shaking his hand too. Albeit, it’s evident that she’s not as much of a people person as her sunny-side sister. She’s much too stiff.

“I’m Lars Westergaard,” The man introduces. “I’m one of the sons in charge of this property.”

“One of?” Elsa asks.

“Yes, I come from a large family. There are thirteen of us, you see.”

Anna whistles at this. “That's more than a baker’s dozen. Makes sense to have a lot of children when managing a farm nonetheless.”

“Yes and no,” Lars says, a laugh at the edge of his words, as if he’s used to the reaction. “Not everyone’s here though. A few of my brothers have decided to handle the newer branches or find their own paths. But, this is the first farm.”

“The original source?” Elsa asks as Anna ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s. Her younger sister probably thinks the land as some exciting adventure.

“Yes.” Lars confirms. “It sounds fascinating in theory, though, it’s old and sometimes it can be a bother to maintain.” Then his grin drops and he looks apologetic. “Ah, sorry about that, I didn’t mean to talk ill about the place, I suppose I just want to be realistic.”

Elsa nods, liking Lars’ honesty.

“Come,” He waves a gesture, guiding the pair to a cosy looking house, “Let me show you to your rooms and get you settled in. You must be exhausted from all that travelling.”

* * *

Elsa originally thought that she had mistakenly heard the word ‘rooms’. She figured she and Anna would be assigned to a single room together; be asked to sleep stacked up upon each other on a bunk bed. 

But Lars leads the sisters to separate bedrooms which are next to each other. The space isn’t too cramped. It’s ample enough to give a sense of comfort but old enough to tell Elsa that it was used by other vacants. Her walls are painted green and a growth chart is left etched by the doorframe, likely measured in someone’s youth. 

Something tugs at her to trace her finger on the graffiti. There are doodles of stick-figures and what the platinum blonde assumes to be farm animals. There are more horses than people, and Elsa doesn’t know what emotion to settle on this discovery.

(Did the old owner of the bedroom feel more connected to horses rather than people? Or is Elsa reading too much into it? There is no evidence of improved quality over time, as if the person simply stopped etching into the doorframe.)

Elsa traces her finger over the wood then she decides on the quality of art to be bittersweet. Cute, even.

Curiosity makes her wonder who used to live here. If she stands side-by-side, she’d be just as tall as the recorded height dated from a decade ago. She bets whoever this person was is now taller than her. Six feet tall, perhaps? To think a teenage boy from the past is taller than her current twenty-four year old stature irks her a bit.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Lars says, startling Elsa from the doorframe. “You can unpack in the meanwhile or freshen up. The bathroom is down the hall, I’ve left instructions on how to work the shower on the wall.” 

“Thanks,” Anna replies and Elsa answers with a small smile.

When the man leaves, Anna collapses on her bed, and — once again — Elsa tries not to cringe at Anna’s outside clothes touching the clean bedspread.

“I’m going to unpack for a bit then shower,” Elsa informs Anna in case she was planning to use the bathroom. She stands in the hall not knowing what to do, looking at Anna from the outside.

“I’ll lay here for a while,” Anna replies, her turquoise eyes already shutting. She’s dozing off. “I got a little dizzy in the cab but didn’t want to say anything.”

“Will you be okay?”

“It’s just a bit of car sickness. It’ll wear off soon.”

“Alright then. Should I wake you before they call us for dinner?”

Anna lets out a hum but doesn’t say anything further, already asleep.

* * *

Elsa overthinks what to wear for dinner, fidgeting on what counts as casual-wear and an outfit that screams ‘good first impression’. Anna didn’t seem to have any problem, entering the dining room in the same clothes she arrived in; a green flannel shirt thrown over an old tee, a pair of jeans shorts and black converse.

Elsa settled on a simple white Summer dress in the end. Reasoning that her clothes fit with the humid weather, though she never stops worrying, fingering the loose damp hair that dried over her shoulders. She had tried to help set the table but the other tenants told them to take their seats, so she smiled and attempted to keep a conversation going without revealing too much about her royal status.

During the short chatter and jabs thrown about by the residents, an assortment of nicknames keeps popping up interchangeably, and Elsa makes a mental note to remember them.

“Anyone seen Hansel?” Lars asks, setting down at the head of the table.

“Who’s Hansel?” Anna asks.

Knowing her sister, Anna probably thinks it’s a family dog or something. But, Elsa will admit, she’s curious too. 

“ ‘Hansel’ is Lars’ youngest brother,” The blonde man sitting across her explains.

“Ah,” Elsa answers back. 

If she isn’t mistaken, the blonde man had introduced himself as ‘Kristoff’. But his boyfriend, Ryder, had then said that Kristoff’s real name is ‘Christopher’. (“It’s not, he’s kidding,” Kristoff had replied hurriedly.) It made Elsa snort. She likes the pair. Ryder seems like the type of young man who is happy to go about and earn a good laugh, while Kristoff is the kind that acts stoic and is mostly silent, only chiming in to share helpful information.

Glancing at the empty chair next to her, Elsa attempts to envision what Lars’ brother looks like. Redhead? Same blue-grey eyes? Glasses too? She can’t believe she’s assuming what his features are. He’s simply the last person to be seated. Not some mystery guest at a fancy dinner. She’s making a big deal of this.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon.” The brown skin girl beside her (“I’m Honeymaren, but everyone calls me ‘Honey’. _Well_ , everyone except my brother, that is. Ryder calls me ‘Maren’, but only because he likes to annoy me.”) leans in and says.

“His real name is ‘Johannes’, but we call him ‘Hans’,” Kristoff adds above Honeymaren’s whisper.

“Only us two do. Maren says otherwise,” Ryder says, smirking at his sister.

“Hansy,” Honeymaren mutters then burst out laughing.

It’s apparent that Hans is easily teased among the group. Elsa starts picturing him as someone young. Probably a teen, definitely the baby of the group. She smiles too, reflecting off Anna’s giggles.

Just then the front door swings open and in steps a man. 

“Ah, there you are, Hans.” Kristoff says, the only polite one to stop jeering.

The red hair is apparently a family trait, but there stops the resemblance. His skin is peppered in freckles and his eyes are green. A deep emerald green. Elsa can’t help but stare. He’s not what she pictured him to look like. He’s no boy, he’s in his mid-twenties, older than Elsa, in fact. Maybe a year or two.

“I heard laughing, were you guys talking shit about me?” Hans asks as he plops into the seat next to Elsa, not even sparing her a look.

“Oh, _totally,_ ” Honeymaren answers, and doesn’t hold back any punches. “We’d never miss a chance to talk about you, _Hansy_!”

Hans returns Honeymaren’s quip with his own joking tone. “Just you wait, _Honeymustard_ , I’ll get you one day.”

Ryder’s youthful features light up and he offers Hans a helping hand in meddling with his older sister. They both look chaotic for just a moment, tickling something playful within Elsa. 

Soon, banter is launched around the dining room and conversation fills the air. There are several interesting topics being talked about. However, Elsa can’t help but turn her attention to Hans every once in a while when she’s not being addressed.

“Why were you late for dinner, Hansy? Where have you been?” Honeymaren asks, flicking her spoon in the redhead’s direction, a motion that catches Elsa’s eye.

“Busy with the horses,” Hans asks. “You know there's lots to do; feeding, brushing, etc.”

His response causes Honeymaren to pull a face and for Elsa to lean forward, elbows on the table. 

“Horses?” Elsa asks.

“Yeah, we have loads of ‘em if you’re interested,” Honeymaren replies.

Elsa nods. She’s pulled into the conversation — and yet Hans still doesn’t spare her a glance. It’s as if he’s intentionally trying to avoid her gaze. It’s a little suspicious, or perhaps she’s taking this too seriously? Maybe he already looked, taking his fill with a glance while she wasn’t aware, absorbed and wrapped up with her previous chatter with Kristoff and Anna and Lars.

But that’s wishful thinking, isn’t it? Gosh, and here Elsa thought her baby sister is the dreamer in the Àrnadalr family.

* * *

“So,” Anna says, sitting cross-legged on Elsa’s bed, her dressing gown on and her wet hair dripping on Elsa’s sheets. “I did not expect Hans to be —”

“Human?”

“More like absolutely gorgeous!” Anna answers, nudging her big sister.

“I didn’t even think he was your type.” Elsa says, giving Anna a strict look.

Anna shrugs. “He’s not my type. But, _your type_ , on the other hand.”

Elsa rolls her eyes in return. It’s barely been a few hours since they’ve stepped foot into _The Southern Isles_ and her sister is already playing matchmaker!

“Don’t play coy, I saw you gawking at him when he sat next to you!”

“Lower your voice, who knows how thin the walls are. Anyone could hear you.” Elsa tells her sister, when what she really wants to say is ‘I can’t fall in love with a man I just met!’ because she truly can’t. She struggles to even enjoy rom-com movies because the logic always infuriated her.

“That’s not a ‘no’!” Anna says, not lowering her volume by the slightest.

“Anna, seriously,” Elsa says, trying to smutter Anna’s infectious laughter under her pillow. Elsa truly doesn’t know whose room is next door to her. Maybe that person is listening in to their girlish giggles.

“If _Meghan Markle_ and _Prince Harry_ can do it, then so can you —”

“Shhh!”

“Stop trying to smutter what I’m saying! I speak the truth! Are you trying to suffocate me to death?” Anna pushes Elsa’s pillow back then pretends to faint, an arm draped over her forehead, her body half-sliding down the bed.

“Maybe,” Elsa says then whacks Anna on the side. 

The strawberry blonde completely slides off the bed and lands on the floor. It earns Elsa a slight playful glare. 

“Okay, so he’s handsome, that doesn’t prove anything.” Elsa says quickly. “Good looks fade. The main point is: I don’t know anything about him and he doesn’t know anything about me in return,” Elsa adds, trying to lull reason into her sister’s brain. “How would you even know if Hans would like someone like me?”

“Uh, well, he didn’t give me any vibes that he didn’t not like you,” Anna answers.

 _Yeah, because he mostly ignored me,_ Elsa answers. “What if Honey’s his girlfriend? You saw how they teased each other earlier.”

“She doesn’t give me that vibe either,”

“You can’t just assume, Anna.” Elsa says pointedly.

“I’m not.” Anna replies. “I talked to Ryder when I helped wash the dishes, and lemme tell you; he talks a lot. Like _a lot._ But, anyway,” Anna continues, shrugging a little. “Yeah, Hans is definitely single and Honeymaren is very much a lesbian. If anything, everyone here is just super close.”

Elsa’s shoulders drop slightly but remain tense. She feels like they’ve been knotted for a long time. “I suppose.” 

“And it’s not like you two would be an odd couple if you do decide to romance Hans, cause like — Ryder and Kristoff are total opposites, and they’re a good match, don’t you think?”

Elsa agrees. But tells Anna, “Whoa there, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. Remember, we’re here to work, not flirt.”

“We can do both,” Anna tries to persuade the platinum blonde, her hands clasped together like a pleading prayer. 

“Wait, what?”

“You worry too much.”

“Anna,” Elsa utters sternly. She knows something is brewing in the other woman’s skull.

The pink tinting Anna’s cheeks betray her and she hurriedly gushes, “Honey is _really_ cute, I can’t help it! Even her name is cute!”

“ _Anna._ ”

“Do you think we could ride off into the sunset on one of those tractors?”

“You'd be more likely to fall off the farm equipment than live your daydream fantasies.” Elsa points out.

Anna doesn’t seem discouraged by this. In fact, she seems more encouraged. “Maybe she’ll catch me? Like those crazy trust exercises? I bet she could! She’s probably buff, she has to be strong to do all the hard labour stuff, right?”

Elsa only returns Anna’s rapid fire questions by pinching the space between her eyebrows. Anna always gets this way with her crushes. Her worst infatuation was on a boy named John when she was sixteen. It eased up a lot after Anna turned eighteen. 

“I’m done talking to you.”

* * *

**ii**

* * *

With jet-lag playing the biggest factor in Elsa falling asleep as soon as Anna left the green-painted bedroom, the platinum blonde princess figured she'd sleep past her usual waking hour. But, she rises at the break of dawn when a rooster scares her, screaming its lungs out.

Disoriented and still tired, Elsa stumbles out into the hall, not knowing how to react. She walks into the bathroom, leaving the door open as she grips the edge of the sink. Slowly, her bearings come to her and she splashes water onto her face before brushing her teeth.

“Oh,” Came a voice behind her, making Elsa spin.

“Um, hi.” Elsa manages, water still sliding down her bare face.

Hans raises a hand, his red hair a mess, his face still masked with sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.”

“No, it’s —” Her mind whirls at the sight of Hans standing here; relaxed and comfortable and —!

 _Fuck, he’s cute._ This is **not** the scenario Elsa pictured when she figured they’d have their first ‘proper’ conversation. 

“It’s ...?” Hans asks.

Elsa shakes her head, unable to finish her sentence. “You can use the bathroom now, I’m done.”

“You sure?” Hans double-checks.

“Yeah.” Her hand grips the edge of her purple nightgown out of nervousness and habit. Of all the opportunities for Hans to look at her, why is it when she’s still rumpled with slumber?

“Did the rooster wake you?” Hans asks, it was something Elsa did not expect to happen. He folds his arms and leans slightly against the doorframe, not exactly blocking her, but not exactly eager to let her leave as it is either.

She struggles not to look at the motion of his biceps. His arms are not-so-surprisingly toned. Suddenly remembering the night before and her sister’s teasing, Elsa recalls telling Anna her type.

 _Anna’s right, but — fight the urge to check Hans out._ Elsa tells herself in her head.

It takes Herculean strength, but Elsa manages to force herself to reply and not space out, “Yes, it was a little shocking, but I’m going to try to go back to bed after it stops crowing.” 

Hans’ cheeks dimples as he gives Elsa a lazy grin. “Can’t really snooze old Marshmallow. You’ll get used to it.”

“You mean, I’ll be able to sleep through the noise?”

“If you’re really tired, sure. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll be able to fall asleep again if you’re a light-sleeper. Contrary to popular belief, roosters crow all the time. Ours usually crows when it sees any light. Sometimes even artificial ones like the ones from the porch or car headlights, or when the moon is very bright.”

Elsa winces and this earns a chuckle from Hans.

“You should start your day now if you’re already up,” Hans insists.

“I —”

“Oh my God, shut that bird off!” Anna’s voice enters the conversation, her bedroom door thrown open with herculean strength and her hair puffing up haphazardly.

“Good morning,” Hans replies, now turning his grin to Anna.

“Is it ‘good’ though?” Anna asks grumpily.

“Afraid it has to be.” He jokes then pushes himself off the doorframe. “I’ll use the bathroom downstairs. This floor should be for you two.” Hans says to Elsa then makes his descend down the stairs.

“Thanks,” Elsa blushes. She isn’t sure if he heard her.

* * *

When Anna finally surrenders any idea of sleeping in, bounding down the stairs in fresh clothes and her hair in twin braids, Honeymaren gives Anna’s outfit a once over look and says, “Cute overalls.”

Anna’s face lights up at Honeymaren’s compliment. “Thanks! It’ll be hard to get off when I have to pee later though,”

“Been there, but it’s _a look_.”

“It _is_ a look!” Anna beams, reaching up to tug at one of her braids.

Elsa tries to pretend that she hadn’t just witnessed her baby sister act completely smitten and passes a basket of bread to Kristoff. Elsa prides her busy hands that helped arrange the breakfast meal before her; a jug of milk, cereal, rolls of bread, jars of jams and marmalade and butter. Hans is now cooking the bacon and eggs from a pan.

“We should be ready to eat now,” Ryder says, arranging cups and utensils.

“Alright,” Elsa says politely.

“Morning,” Lars closes the front door, a roll of newspaper in his hand. Elsa didn’t even know people still delivered the papers anymore, she gathered everything from her phone.

“Here,”

Elsa turns her attention away from Lars to see Hans handing two plates of eggs and bacon for her to set on the table. She takes them and mutters a small thanks. Kristoff and Honeymaren handle the rest before Hans turns off the stove’s fire and positions the last plate.

“So,” Anna says after a sip of milk. “What are we doing today?”

“I suppose we can start with something simple before easing into the more labour-involving activities,” Lars says as he puts down his mug of coffee. “Honey, how about you teach Anna how to milk the goats, and then help brush their fur?”

“Okie dokie. I can teach Anna how to bottle feed the babies too,” Honeymaren tells enthusiastically, making Anna gasp loudly at this.

“You will?!”

“Sure!”

Lars grins around his mug. “Hansel, you can help Elsa gather the eggs then feed the chickens and clean the area. The coop needs some repairing, so remember to bring the toolbox.”

Elsa’s blue eyes slide over to Hans to see his reaction. He only bobs his head before diving back into his food. There appears to be a theme: Hans is not the type to talk during meals.

“What about work revolving around the fruits and vegetables?” Elsa asks.

Lars raises a brow then speaks, “I suppose you can help till the garden. Kristoff can guide you after he milks the cow.”

Elsa nods too then sits up a little straighter, eager to learn everything about the dirt and greens.

* * *

The basket hanging by the crook of her elbow makes Elsa feel like she’s _Red Riding Hood_. By the view of the greenery, wooden structures and fresh floral scents, it would be easy to trick herself into believing that she’s in a fairy tale. Though getting lost in the woods is the last thing Elsa wants.

Hans exchanges a few pieces of knowledge about himself, mostly done in a _questions-and-answers_ fashion. By the time they reach their destination, Elsa knows a few things about Hans and his family.

His favourite colour is venetia green, and he has twenty-three nieces and nephews. Well, twenty-four. Another addition on the way, it turns out Lars’ wife, Helga, is pregnant and currently counting down the weeks. The topic of his family is something Hans has managed to sneak into almost every answer. He really defines himself by his familial ties and Elsa can't help but admire that trait about Hans.

They stop talking when the coop’s door is pushed open, both of them getting into their tasks — which is fine on Elsa’s part, _for a while_. She enjoys luring the chickens out of their nests to feed them and watch them cluck about at her feet. Some of the hens are a pretty golden colour, but most are white-feathered or a dark brown. They’re beautiful creatures. Elsa can imagine herself stroking one the way she’d stroke a housepet.

When Elsa’s picked up the last egg, she mentally pats herself on the back for filling the basket (without recoiling at the bird droppings touching her bare fingers) and turns to face Hans. The familiar hunger pangs returns. She wants him to notice her and she wonders what to say to Hans next. She’s always been the person who’s approached, asked by people of high titles and status about her option, but here it’s a little different. 

_It’s like he forgets that I’m here and doesn’t even see me._ Elsa thinks. Hans seems to be content with the peaceful quiet and with the idea of Elsa just being in his background.

The habit of speaking bubbles to her surface and, finally, she can’t hold her tongue for a second more.

"So, your last name’s ‘Westergaard’, right?" Elsa asks, putting away the basket. Her question makes Hans turn and raise a brow. 

"Do you find it funny?" Hans asks back.

She clasps her hands together, suddenly feeling nervous. "Oh, I didn't mean to offend you. I just — uh, no. No, I don't find it amusing. I think it's rather fitting."

"Fitting?" He repeats.

"Yes. I —" She bites her lower lip, wondering how much of her education she should reveal. "I, um, took Danish lessons. Correct me if I'm wrong, but — your surname means 'west farm', doesn't it?"

His expression shifts then, like he can't decide if he should be impressed or not. "You're rather bookish, aren't you?"

“I … I guess,”

“I’d never peg you as the farming type,” He continues.

"What do you mean?" Elsa asks, feeling pin-pricks going up her arms.

"Oh, I hope you don't misunderstand." Hans says, taking his time to explain as he looks her in the eyes. He’s trying. Elsa can tell. He isn’t mocking her or acting superior with his knowledge. "It's just … I suppose what I'm trying to say is: I expect — No. Maybe 'expect' is a little too much. I figured you'd be more introverted and enjoy indoor activities as opposed to …"

"Farming?" Elsa finishes his sentence.

Hans nods. "Yes." 

There's something in Hans' tone. It's as if he doesn't think she'd like the things he's passionate about. At least, Elsa thinks he's passionate about farming since it's what he's grown up with. If not passionate, then it's an activity he likes.

Elsa knows she isn't very good at concealing her feelings, but she hopes she doesn't come off as the type of person Hans can't be around. Now she wonders if her attitude — this need to withhold information — is one of the many reasons they aren't connecting right off the bat? Can Hans sense it? Is that why he’s equally at arm’s length?

“I suppose I may look … ‘indoor-sy’, but looks can be deceiving. And, um, I can always learn to like farming." She tells him.

A look in his eyes shift. "You'd do that?"

"I don't see why not,"

He offers her a small smile. It's a little different from the grin he tossed Anna this morning. Elsa can’t entirely be sure what Hans is trying to convey to her. But she believes it’s a mixture of understanding and (maybe) admiration for her determination to try something new.

Elsa feels heat rise up her neck, and stops any chance of the redness to her face and ears before it betrays her.

"H — Hey, tell me something.” She says, deciding to switch the topic. She hides her hands behind her back as she watches Hans change the bedding and grab some tools to repair the coop. He does it so fluidly. It’s impressive. “What does the farm specialise in?” Of course, she already knows this, but she wants Hans to talk about something other than her. 

“The Westergaards have long been established in crops, livestock and horse breeding.” Hans ticks off a few things. “The jams and marmalade we ate with our toast this morning came from our gardens.”

This surprises Elsa when it really shouldn’t. It makes sense, but perhaps she’s more awed by the large variety of choices; strawberry, blackcurrant, raspberry, apricot, blueberry, orange and cherry. They tasted better than the brands Elsa’s had too. Sweeter, fresher, probably lacking any chemicals and preservatives.

“I’m sure there will be plenty of time for me to give you and Anna a grand tour of the place. But, it can get rather boring.” Hans hums, more to himself than anything. Then his emerald eyes widen and he tells her, “I just realised that I haven’t really inquired much about you. That’s rude of me. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Oh … well, I’m okay just talking about you.”

“No, no, I insist. Why don’t we talk about you? You and your sister moved here to start work, right?”

Elsa's fingers flex and curve into her palm. This is what she gets for wanting to start a conversation with a stranger she doesn’t know. All this trouble because she’s sort of into him and doesn’t want Hans ignoring her. If Anna was here, the strawberry blonde would tell her sister that Hans can read her vibes. _“It’s all off, that’s why he knows you’re not into farming nor good at keeping secrets.”_ She’d say.

“Well, yes, we did move here to start work. But we can't really stay here permanently or be away from home for too long.” Elsa replies after a moment.

“Ah. Why is that?”

This question leaves Elsa cold.

 _Because there’s nothing left for us back home. Because we had no place to go._ Elsa thinks to herself. She won’t say it aloud though. It’s better to lay low and say she’s desperate, willing to work for food and shelter. It’s best to remain mysterious and not talk about her and Anna’s background.

Upon noticing Elsa’s quietness, Hans turns away from the chicken coop. “Sorry, is that a touchy subject?"

The whole truth would be explaining that _The Southern Isles_ is the nearest and only farm that has real soil and dirt, and experienced people who could teach the princesses real life lessons without spoiling or sugarcoating the situation. But, there’s no way to explain herself in this manner, so Elsa opts for a half-truth.

"Um, yes and no." She mutters, flexing her fingers once more. "Did you hear about The Great Freeze? The one that struck Arendelle three years ago? That’s … That’s where Anna and I are from.”

"Oh."

Elsa squeezes her eyes shut.

" _Oh,_ " Hans repeats. "Yes, I've heard. It was quite a hit."

Elsa nods stiffly, now feeling the urge to rub the sweat gathering on her palm. Just admitting her country is in ruins makes her feel like a failed princess.

"I understand if you want to keep certain details to yourself. It's not my place to pry." Hans says and Elsa nods once more, glad to hear he won't cross any boundaries. "But," He adds, making Elsa raise her eyes to his face. "You don't have to feel embarrassed or anything. Kristoff doesn't have much either. It's a known fact that he was orphaned at a young age and later adopted by a kind woman named Bulda. It’s a painful childhood, _however_ , he's not defined by his past. Kristoff is more known for his hard working nature than anything else. He’s been working on the farm for years now. It's honest work here, nobody will judge you for some bad luck. After all, it wasn't really something you could control, was it?"

Elsa rubs her hands, feeling a little better. "No, I suppose not." She tries to send the redhead a smile. "Thanks,"

“No problem,” Hans replies before rising from his knelt position. He packs up his toolbox and gestures for Elsa to grab the basket of eggs. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Kristoff is a mountain of a man. He easily uses the garden tools, and lugs around heavy equipment like wheelbarrows and sacks and long sticks that’s fallen about.

He’s silent for the most part, but in a nice way. And when he talks, he’s cynical in a manner Elsa didn’t imagine. But it’s funny. His sarcastic humour sort of grounds him as a person; bringing him down to earth.

Elsa finds herself feeling comforted, it’s easy to see he’s a big softie behind his burly exterior. She finds out that Kristoff is a big fan of reindeers and vegetables (specifically orange carrots, which apparently had a history; orange being reserved for royalty and purple for peasants) and — surprisingly, snow and ice.

The evening passes by pleasantly. By the time new seeds are sown and Kristoff’s shown Elsa the proper way to replant a potted plant into the soil, the platinum blonde is both tired from hauling the heavy watering can around and eager to see something living grow.

The sweat rolling down her back and the smudge of dirt on her cheek doesn’t bother her. Neither does her soft palms under the rough grip of the shovel handed to her. Nor the sun making her cheeks flush.

* * *

After a week, she gains a tan.

And after two weeks, Elsa’s learned that there’s always something new to do and learn around the farm.

By the third week, she thinks she’s gotten the hang of how things work around here.

* * *

**iii**

* * *

“Good morning,”

“Mornin’,” Honeymaren says around her cup of coffee

Elsa flashes the tan woman a smile and tries not to appear too obvious as she looks around the empty dining room. “Where is everyone?”

“At the horse stable. Nokk is giving birth and Lars expects it to be a somewhat difficult birth so all the boys and Anna are there.”

“Will it?”

“Dear ol' Hansy thinks otherwise. He says everything will go smoothly but only because that dummy thinks he’s _a Horse Whisperer_. He thinks the new foal will look like a mini-Sitron and I’d be there too to tell him he’s wrong, but I didn’t want to leave you alone in the house.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t have to.” Elsa says.

Honeymaren shrugs. “It’s fine. I’ve witnessed plenty of births. Have you?”

“No, can’t say I have.”

“It's quite an experience, we can head on over there right now.”

“N — Now?” Elsa stutters.

“Yeah,” Honeymaren proposes, but at the sight of Elsa’s face looking paler, Honeymaren lowers her cup. “I mean, if you’re okay with blood and some gore, that is.”

Elsa rubs her hands together, she’s certainly squeamish at the idea. “No, I’d rather stay here.” Elsa replies then takes a seat, and grabs a roll of bread and some butter (made from the farm’s resources too).

“Probably a good call,” The fact that Elsa’s hesitating is enough to tell Honeymaren that the platinum blonde will faint.

Elsa agrees, taking a small bite of her breakfast. “Um, do you know how long everyone will be at the stables?”

Honeymaren shakes her head. “If Lars is right about the birth being complex, it could take a few hours. If Hans is right, it could still take some time.”

Elsa is slow to react. An understanding passes and clicks at Honeymaren’s words. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Honeymaren repeats, raising a brow. “What’s up?”

Elsa chews slowly, trying to not seem bashful. “I just … I realised that Hans won’t be …”

“Yeees?”

“I — No, it’s okay. It’s a dumb observation. Don’t mind me.” Elsa tries to wave away the thoughts in her skull.

Honeymaren leans against the dining table. “No, no, tell me.”

“It’s really _nothing_.”

“Girl, you can’t lead me on like that.”

Elsa blushes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I came to the realisation that Hans won’t be going to the coop with me and I’ll be attending to the chickens alone.”

A slow smile spreads on Honeymaren’s lips. “Ah, that’s true, this will be the first time you won’t have Hansy by your side.”

Elsa’s poker face continues to slip. “Uh, y — yeah. Not that that’s a problem. Feeding the hens and gathering their eggs isn't a hard chore, you know?”

“Sure,” Honeymaren chimes, though there’s clearly something else in her mind aside from agreeing with Elsa’s claims.

“I’m just not used to it.” Elsa continues.

“Uh-huh,”

“And you don’t have to help me.”

“Okie-dokie,”

“And don’t get Hans either.”

“Alright,”

“Really, I can do this myself.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, Miss Independent. Don’t worry.” Honeymaren replies, then takes a sip of her drink and picks up her phone.

Elsa takes this as a hint that the next few minutes will pass by without another word. The hush peacefulness will certainly give Elsa a quiet moment to mull over her chores as she eats, but Elsa can’t help but wonder if she’ll truly be visiting the chicken coop without Hans.

It’s less about the difficulty of the task, and more about the lack of the familiar company. It's almost silly for her to feel this way. She tells herself that she shouldn't yearn so strongly for his attention. Yes, she's known Hans for a month now — so she can no longer deny that her attraction for him is a fleeting moment — but parts of him is a mystery to her. Honestly, what does she know about him? He's still a stranger ...

Right? Maybe? She doesn't know.

And yet, she’s grown to enjoy their talks and jokes as they cross the grassy land. Elsa would be lying if she said she wouldn’t miss Hans’ presence, even if it was for one short morning.

* * *

Elsa feels the tug of someone’s hand on her arm before it registers to her that she’s made a mistake. She was just trying to stroke a white hen — except that it wasn’t a white hen, it was the rooster that’s woken her up consistently for the past month. And it’s _furious_.

And now, because she’s triggered Marshmallow, she’s running for her life from a damn bird.

“Why did you name it ‘Marshmallow’ if it isn't cute or fluffy?” Elsa asks, gasping as she lets Hans lead her around the twists and turns of the farm. Marshmallow isn’t gaining, but he hasn’t lost sight of them either. This bird has a knack for vengeance!

“ _I_ didn't name it!” Hans replies, tugging at her, pleading for Elsa to pick up the pace and run faster. “My nephew did! Don’t ask me why, even I don’t understand it myself!”

“I feel tricked!” Elsa confesses, struggling to keep up. “I figured most roosters were really colourful so imagine my surprise to find Marshmallow white! I assumed he was a hen!”

“What did you even do? He’s never been this driven to chase anyone.”

Elsa’s face turns a bright red. She’s glad Hans’ eyes are looking forward and not at her. “I tried to pet it. I remember watching _YouTube_ videos of children hugging some hens and the hens hugging back, and I thought —” If possible, her blush turns brighter. “I thought Marshmallow was an appropriate-sized chicken for me to hug, and then he attacked me.”

The noise that comes out of Hans’ lips sounds like a cross between a laugh and a groan.

“Can’t you tame him?” Elsa asks. She feels so embarrassed. She can’t believe this is happening to her!

“ _Tame?_ Tame Marshmallow? No??? He’s a leghorn rooster, their breeds are very aggressive! Well, roosters are aggressive and territorial in general, why do you think cock fights occur?!”

Elsa frowns as the porch comes into view. They’re so close! She can’t tell if the steady beat ringing in her ears is the sound of her heart palpitating or the thundering of their feet.

“The only person who can truly tame the rooster isn’t here.” Hans says after looking over his shoulder for a brief second.

“Lars’ wife?”

“No, Lars’ kid! My nephew!”

Right, the kid did name the damn thing! Of course, he’d know how to control Marshmallow!

Elsa wants to smack her forehead and is about to let out a ‘duh!’ sound when Marshmallow dives in for an attack. Elsa shrieks, her hand caught onto Hans’ palm in a death grip, and —

Hans moves, tugging Elsa out of the way and then lifting her in the air as if she weighed nothing. Her pale hands are on his shoulders and she fumbles for coherent words. Her brain is a scatter, trying to process what’s happening. It’s almost _The Notebook_ -esque, except that Hans’ hands aren’t around her waist, he can’t support her weight that way. 

He’s literally swept her off her feet, carrying her bridal-style and —

“Olaf!” Hans cries.

Wait — _what?_

As if summoned, a small child appears, leaving his very pregnant mother by the car as he runs full-speed at Hans, Elsa and the rooster.

“Wait!” Elsa finds her voice.

Olaf doesn’t stop. He makes a sweeping motion and zooms towards Marshmallow.

For a brief moment, panic clutches at Elsa. She’s afraid that damn bird will attack the boy in his rage. But when Hans slows to a jog and turns, letting Elsa angle her blonde head, she sees Olaf holding the rooster in his tiny arms, smiling a toothy grin.

“I got him, Uncle Hans!” Olaf yells as Hans exhales in relief.

“Good job, kiddo!”

Elsa stays as still as possible, acting numb. She pretends not to notice or mind that her body is being held in Hans’ strong arms. She pretends that her head isn’t floating in the clouds, on cloud nine, and she isn’t only saying that because her legs aren’t touching the ground.

Her face must be red now, red from embarrassment and red from exercise, but she doesn’t care. Her blue eyes are set on Hans, who’s looking off. His chest is heaving and she’s so scared she’ll ruin the moment if she does anything like breathe.

Regardless, she lets a few words slip.

“Oh wow.” She whispers. “I can’t believe it,”

“I know, right?” Hans laughs and the effect ripples on Elsa. He’s still cradling her, still lingering by her side. “We just got outclassed by a six year old.”

* * *

Hans walks into her room like he’s been doing it his whole life. It startles her. There’s no pause, no knock on the door or the sound of Hans clearing his throat to announce his presence. He just walks in, stops in the middle of the room and has this look on his face, like he’s made a mistake.

“Uh, hey?” Elsa says. She blinks her blue eyes at him and away from the gardening self-help book she's re-reading.

She wonders if Hans is here to check up on her. Did he come to see if she’s gotten over the trauma of getting attacked by a rooster who was definitely out for her blood?

Not to say that her day is entirely spoiled, she did get to meet Lars’ family after they came back from Helga’s parents’ house. His wife, Helga, and their son, Olaf, are lovely people.

And there was a short session where _most_ of the staff on the farm took a coffee break together. In which, Kristoff and Ryder somehow started a conversation about which one among the two could braid hair better. Kristoff said that Ryder has only braided Honeymaren’s hair but Kristoff, on the other hand, has got loads of adoptive siblings. And Kristoff sort of won when he managed to style Elsa’s hair in this braided bun under two minutes.

It was nice. But, Hans wasn’t there, so Elsa feels a little starved from seeing him.

“Sorry,” Hans says, blinking at the realisation of his little hiccup. “This used to be my room.”

“Your room?” Elsa echoes, then turns her attention to the marking by the door frame. Those were his charts growing up? She can’t believe he was her height at age sixteen, that should be illegal. Then another realisation occurs to her and she can’t help but wonder if he gave up this room for her. “Where are you sleeping now?”

“Oh, I moved into one of my brother's bigger rooms when I got older, I needed the extra space.”

Elsa nods, now feeling silly for thinking Hans would give up something as big as his comfort zone for her. Of course, he wouldn’t have made such a decision! She was a complete stranger to Hans when Lars had shown her this green painted bedroom. It’s not like he saw her then decided to give up his room for her sake.

“I haven’t slept in here for a while but I still find myself walking into my old room out of habit. I haven’t shaken that off it seems.” Hans says with a small laugh on his end.

She nods again, still feeling embarrassed for her wild _expectations_.

“Sorry. This must be random,” Hans adds.

 _I mean, it is, but —_ “You don’t have to apologise,”

“No. I feel that I do. Also, while I’m here ...” His expression turns flustered. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Earlier?” Elsa repeats.

“Marshmallow.”

“You … You don’t have to say sorry for that. It’s not like you have control over Marshmallow.”

Hans shakes his head. “No. It’s not that,”

Elsa blinks in confusion.

Hans’ emerald eyes drift down to his palms. Suddenly, he can’t meet her gaze again. “I didn’t mean to grab you so suddenly. I acted without thinking and I just wanted ...”

 _Wanted ...?_ Elsa thinks.

“... to make sure you were safe.”

Oh.

“It’s — It’s alright,” Elsa stutters. _And I didn’t mind._

Not knowing what to do, Elsa starts fiddling with her braided bun. She thinks: Hans is always apologising to her. Does he think he can’t be his real self around her without constantly needing to amend certain qualities?

She’s gotten to know Hans better since stepping onto _The Southern Isles_ , she’s learned bits and pieces of him. Like how she could tell that he's ingrained the big family-lifestyle to his daily routine just by the way he sits at the dining table; with his elbows tucked in, used to the years of cramped spaces. Or how he never enters another person’s space without the thought that he’s invading something sacred. Or that he rarely invades hers despite showing some curiosity in her as a person. An example: How he rarely starts a conversation.

Hans seems aloof towards her. Any yet, Elsa can’t help but keep a persistent fantasy of him. Somewhere in that mind of hers, she wants to believe that the youngest of the Westergaards is giving her special consideration. No matter how she swings it, no matter how much she tries to walk away — she ends up in the same position. It’s as if she ran a marathon around the earth and found herself completing a circle. Back to square one. 

Logically, she knows her reasons for her curiosity for Hans; through her stay here, he’s said a number of things that piqued her interest. He entered her life and spoke about poignant and mundane topics, pointed out deep and profound comments. Whether she strongly agrees or disagrees on the matter, the bottom line is — she wants to debate about the little-big things that plagues his mind.

She’s trying to understand the meaning of his life. Elsa _wants_ to draw out Hans' thoughts. She _wants_ to learn **more** about Hans. Perhaps something regarding his past or his future. Anything, really. Because it feels like she’s just amping up the tension between them by holding her tongue.

She knows _some_ stuff about him. _This stuff._ But, _still_ , she tells herself that she must be mad for chastising herself with all these wishful thinking.

Elsa argues that she’s gone over her head. Honestly, who does she think she is, expecting so much from him? Why on earth would he check up on her?

She tells herself that she doesn’t know Hans all that much. That she can’t read him _that well._ In her eyes, she sees Hans as a friend, but maybe he thinks they’re co-workers at best? 

Hans is kind to her, yes, but Elsa did tell herself at the beginning of this journey that no one owes anything to her. The folks here at _The Southern Isles_ farm do not have to be nice or friendly to her. They don’t have to get to know her. Nor grow close, so she shouldn’t be asking a great deal of things from Hans either. 

He can simply exist, respecting whatever chasm she’s built between them. Everything is up for speculation.

Raising her eyes from the cover of her book, Elsa thinks Hans will turn away now, walk back to his room and rest for the day. This awkward conversation will surely come to a close. Logically speaking, he didn't mean to start any small talk to begin with.

So imagine her surprise when he lifts his eyes to the cover of the book in Elsa’s hands and — as if compelled by an urge or a memory — asks her, "Do you want to see the new foal?"

“I …” She blinks, puzzled. He wants to spend time with her? “With you?”

“Yes,” He says. He can tell that she’s anxious and he’s not letting that part succumb and win.

“What about the others?” She closes the pages.

“They’ve already seen it. You’re the only person who hasn’t.” Hans tells her, his offer still standing.

“Oh.” Elsa tugs on a bit of her platinum blonde hair subconsciously. “ _Oh_ , um,”

“I remember you being interested in horses on the first night you arrived and I …” Hans swallows. “I want to know if you’d like to pursue that interest since you said you were eager to give farming a go?”

The corners of her lips fight back a grin. Is Hans reaching out because he’s open to uncovering more similarities and past-time hobbies with her? _It’s nice._ It’s nice that — when Elsa feels failure and doubt of not being enough — Hans is encouraging and doesn't let her give up.

 _Play it cool._ Elsa tells herself before answering, “It depends, I guess," 

“You guess?”

"Will I be chased by Marshmallow again?"

Hans lets out a snort then pretends to mull over it like it's a serious question. "I can't guarantee anything, but maybe if you stick with me, I'll warn you in time."

"Sounds fair," Elsa replies and stands. "Let's go to the stable,”

* * *

“You were right,” Elsa says from a safe distance.

The doors to the stall where the new mother and baby are closed but the possibility of being in an unsafe position still scares her. In her mind, Elsa considers herself lucky to be able to outrun a mad rooster. That can’t be said about a possible scenario of having to outrun a horse. She knows she’s not very fast.

“About?” Hans hums back.

“The foal. It does look like its father. Sitron, right?”

“Yes,”

Hans probably nodded his head as he said this, but Elsa’s eyes are trained on the little horse. She can’t help but feel this sense of wonder at the baby. She almost regrets not being here this morning. _Almost_ — because she knows she made the right call knowing she'd be queasy. 

Elsa’s a bit scared but the foal is unbelievably adorable; she can't save herself from its cuteness.

(Like a certain somebody she knows she can’t keep away from.)

Truly, Elsa’s impressed. Though, she’s not talking about the animal. More so on Hans’ skill. Hans is a horse whisperer through and through for knowing how the birth and the complexity and process of it all. He’s got trained eyes. He’s sharp.

She casts her gaze back on the redhead and finds him looking at her.

Elsa blinks. _Oh._ She didn’t think he’d be staring at her without her knowledge. “What?”

“Did Honeymustard tell you about my predictions on how the foal will look?”

Ah, that makes sense why he was eyeing her. Elsa realises she must have given Hans an impression that she talked about him without his knowledge. After all, he didn’t tell her about the foal’s features.

“Yeah,” Elsa replies. And she wants to tell him that he’s right again to get on his good graces. ‘I wasn’t talking about you behind your back,’ She wants to say but settles on asking, "Have you named it yet?"

"No. We know it’ll grow up to be a healthy stallion but after years of breeding horses, we’re sort of running empty on names. Would you like to name him?" Hans asks.

“Um …” Elsa turns so that her gaze is set on him.

Hans is also standing a little far away, but not from the fear of being chased again. He’s been doing small chores here and there since they got here; tidying up bits of hay, going around the stable to inspect the structure, patting the horses on the snout.

Elsa admires his diligence, though she thinks it goes beyond Hans’ belief that he is a horse whisperer as Honeymaren said. Maybe it’s due to the fact that work at the farm never stops? If Elsa recalls right, the first night she arrived, he was late to dinner doing who knows what. 

She comes to the realisation that he’s a rather hard-working fellow. And he doesn't get enough credit.

The same anxieties from earlier come back to attack her. Elsa suddenly feels guilty for taking up the little free time he has between the hours of his day. Elsa admits that she’s interested in spending more time with Hans since he sat down beside her at the dining table, but that’s too much, isn’t it? She shouldn’t ask for more than the few kind gestures he’s shown her.

There’s a good reason why she hasn’t seen Hans all day until today. He’s been busy _busy_ **busy**. Elsa can see how fatigued he looks; his shoulders slumped, posture lackadaisical and lines under his emerald eyes. 

A part of her feels like she’s a heavy weight that he carries without complaint (and the other can’t help but admire him more for his selflessness). But Elsa _can’t_ indulge in _that part_ of her, can she? She’s well aware that — by growing up as royalty — she’s conditioned and gotten used to being attended to. So much so that she automatically expects it. And when Hans didn’t immediately fit into the role, she moped around and fussed about it.

And now she’s anxious and ashamed that she's falling back into her old habits when she _should_ be growing and learning. She came to the farm to expand!

“What?” Hans asks and Elsa realises that she’s been staring at him. “It’s okay if you can’t think of any names.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” She insists, feeling the need to prove herself.

“Then?”

“It’s just …” Elsa twists her hands together, watching her pale skin turn a slight shade of pink from the pressure. After a moment, Elsa answers, "I’d like to name the foal ‘Kjekk’,"

Hans brushes away the dirt from his heavy-duty work gloves then beams at her. "What does it mean?"

"Um," Elsa blushes. "It's Norwegian for … 'handsome',"

"Ah," The redhead man says, still smiling. "It's a good name."

Elsa manages to grin back at him and bobs her head a little. She wants this conversation to be swift. The lingering subconscious of precious seconds ticking by still bothers her.

But like a sudden breeze, Hans continues to surprise her. “Do you want to take the horses to the field tomorrow?” He asks.

Elsa blinks, “Oh, I, uh, I’m not sure.”

“Why? Can you ride?” He asks, making his way towards her.

Elsa chews on the bottom of her lip, unsure if she should admit the truth. “I — I don’t know. Maybe … Maybe I could if you helped me but I can’t ask that from you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re always so busy. I couldn’t possibly. I’d be intruding.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.” Hans says, now standing beside her.

“I … I feel that I am though,” Elsa insists.

Hans blinks at her. “Why?”

“Because it would be odd, wouldn’t it?” Elsa asks back.

“Would it?” Hans tilts his head, not getting what she means.

“Yes,”

 _I would be, at least._ She thinks. _I barely see you around as it is._ She adds in her mind. Hans’ back to back questions are really something else. It’s definitely different from his usual self.

“Am I being too forward?” Hans asks, breaking Elsa from her train of thought.

“Forward?” Elsa repeats. “In what way?”

“I’m not … like Honeymustard,” Hans says, referring to the nickname given to his Northuldra friend. “I’m not like Ryder too, but I’m not saying I’m like Kristoff either.”

“I … I don’t exactly follow.”

“What I’m trying to say is: I’m not very good at expressing my feelings and I don’t really have a person to vouch for me when I keep to myself. I don’t mean to come off as strange.” Hans explains. Albeit, it sounds more like a confession. “Everyone is always teasing me because of it. They always know how to make the first move and I guess I don’t know how to approach you.”

“Oh,” She blushes. She didn’t think Hans thought this way, she always figured he was quite charming in his own fashion. “I didn’t mean to say you were strange or weird,”

He grins at her, relieved. 

Elsa’s eyelashes flutter as she stares at her hands. “I, um,” Her face feels warm. She’s shuttering too much for someone who’s taken classes on how to speak formally. Where is her spine? Hans makes her feel shy. “I already considered you a friend, if you had any doubts,”

“You do?”

“How can I not? We’ve spent every day together; visiting the chicken coop in the morning and eating meals.” She reasons, her eyes still cast downward. 

But when she looks up, she notes that his stare is on her.

Hans’ gaze tells Elsa that he’s trying to work out what’s going on in her brain. Then he speaks, slow and reassuring, “I take off-days every now and then. I’m not always busy. I like to spend my free time around horses when I’ve got nothing to do. I’d like us to go horseback riding together if you’re up for it. I don’t mind teaching you, and if you’re afraid, we could just walk around the field and talk. Does that sound okay?”

She tries to conceal her smile. If she grins too much, she’ll look like a flustered fool. “That sounds lovely.”

* * *

The country-side view has grown on Elsa, she’s learned to appreciate it. It’s nice to see animals roaming around freely; geese waddling about and honking at whoever gets too close, little piglets coming to their feet and asking for tummy scratches. 

Elsa thinks it’s an adorable sight to see the animals so trusting around Hans. 

“Give me your hand, Elsa.”

“What?” Hans is in his element, but Elsa can’t say the same about herself. She’s been keeping her distance, picking up bits of twigs off the ground when she thinks it’s too awkward of her to not have anything in her grasp.

“Come on,”

It isn’t until Hans makes a motion for Elsa to lend him her exposed palm to pet a piglet does she relax a bit. To think, she’s all wound up from the idea of going horseback riding. It isn’t a big deal, she’s done it dozens of times … just not with Hans.

“Is this okay?” Hans asks when he sees Elsa beaming from ear to ear.

“Yeah,” Elsa answers.

“Yeah?”

“Hmm, it’s more than fine.”

And as Hans watches Elsa crouching beside him, tipping on her toes and giving the piglet a good scratch behind its ear, he feels content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes 3: Happy Valentines to me and my long-time fav AU. Here’s how Hans held Elsa during the chicken run:
> 
> — 1 February 2021


End file.
